She thought about the interrogation in his room that night. That was probably the first time he had consciously seen the trivarial power used in front of him. Looking around the room, she could understand now what had happened. He had probably tried to float every last object in the room. The wash basin must have been a failure.
“I think I’ve pretty much got it now.” He grabbed his shirt from the bed and pulled it on. “I thought picking you up would be hard, but…well, you know.”
She raised a warning eyebrow. “It’s time to go. Gather your things.”
Sim grabbed his leather bag from the side of the bed. Then he strapped on his sword belt and motioned for her to lead the way. They went down to the common room, empty except for Mistress Hisha, sitting alone at the bar. Enaya asked Sim to wait by the door, and then went to say her goodbyes to the generous innkeeper. Mistress Hisha stood as she approached and offered a long tight hug.
“I can’t thank you enough for your generosity,” Enaya said, pulling away from the hug and smiling sincerely.
“We must always help one another,” Mistress Hisha whispered to her ear. “One day I expect you to pay the kindness forward.”
“I welcome any chance to help a fellow sister,” Enaya whispered back.
“When you get to Nal’Dahara, look for the Blue Trellis. The innkeeper, Master Foust will help you.”
“Thank you Mistress Hisha. For…”
Enaya didn’t get to finish. Givara burst into the common room with a look of alarm.
“We must leave, Lady Relador,” she called out with urgency and panic in her voice, forgetting to use the alias. “Now.”
Enaya exchanged a quick fearful glance with Mistress Hisha who motioned for her to go.
*******************************************************************
Sim’s lungs heaved and his legs burned as he followed the two women, running at a dead sprint up a slowly inclining hill. His swords thumped painfully against his thighs, swinging loosely from his double scabbard belt. Givara had wanted him to leave the swords behind. They will only slow you down, she’d said. She didn't believe he knew how to use his weapons, but he'd refused to leave without them. Maybe he’d have no use of his swords, but if they were being pursued, he wanted to have the ability to defend himself. Though he’d spent all morning trying to use his new found powers, Sim didn’t feel confident using them if they were attacked. He’d discovered that it took a great deal of concentration to move even the smallest of objects, and he couldn’t imagine achieving that level of focus with a sword leveled at his head. He would need more practice.
Enaya surprised him. She ran out in front with Givara close at her side. Sim expected Givara to run with little effort, and she glided across the ground gracefully, but Enaya ran as though possessed. Her hands gripped the waist of her dress, holding it up off the ground as she sprinted ahead, setting a breathless pace. Her beautiful golden tresses trailed behind like a flag waving in the breeze. She was fast, and she ran as though her life were in danger. If Givara was right and it was indeed Navan Prianhe who hunted them, then they were all in danger.
Sim knew little about him. Navan Prianhe was Desirmor’s monomach, the leader of the elite fighting group known as the First Defenders. Enaya’s eyes had gone wide with horror when Givara told them why they couldn’t take the traeggar. They had paused only long enough to hastily ask Mistress Hisha for directions before setting out for the resting station on a hill in the northwest side of Carleton. Sim could only hope that they were on the right path. If Prianhe was as dangerous as Givara claimed, then they had no time to spare.
They took a left up a thin alley just beyond a seamstress shop that Mistress Hisha had described. The alley led to a steep ascent across two parallel streets, and as they reached the top they could see the resting station just a short ways up to the right.
The resting station was a series of massive barns lined up in a half circle around a flat, wide open field. At the front of the station was an enormous stone building where trevlocs loaded and unloaded, and customers could purchase boarding passes. Sim wondered if there was going to be a trevloc to board when they got there, and he found his answer as soon as they crossed the threshold into the building. The room they entered had no back wall, but opened out into the field beyond. A trevloc sat with its back to the door, looking out at the field, its long tail pulled up along its side so the point lay on the grass next to its head. Its pale gray body was massive, the size of any ship in the port, with a long neck spotted with tufts of coarse black hair. The head lay in the grass, eyes closed as it calmly rested, waiting for a command from its rider. There was a small wooden platform, enclosed with a wooden railing, strapped to the trevloc’s back by huge widths of leather cord that wrapped around the beasts midsection, neck and tail. Sim wondered skeptically if it was enough to keep the platform on the trevloc while it flew. A woman in a plain gray jacket and pants was on the ground checking the cords, pulling them to determine their tautness.
Enaya ran to a wooden counter where a very bored looking young man sat on a stool reading a book. He looked up at them as she approached, breathing hard and trying to catch enough wind to speak. It took her a moment as she bent over, hands on knees, taking in deep heaves of air, and spitting out an occasional cough.
“Good sir…” she wheezed, leaning a supportive hand against the countertop. “We need to board that trevloc.”
The man stared at her strangely. What an odd group they must seem, Sim thought. Enaya in her fine silk dress, looking as though she might cough out a lung at any moment and Givara with her short hair and deadly eyes. The man searched each of them in turn hesitating, Sim noticed, on Givara’s scabbard and on Sim’s two blades. The man swallowed hard.
“That trevloc is booked, my Lady. Leaves at noontime for Teoulle.” He looked nervously at Givara. “The next trevloc leaves tomorrow morning for Perth.”
Enaya exchange a quiet look with Givara. Sim wondered if she intended to bargain with him. Givara pulled out a fat coin purse and held it up for the young man to look at. She approached the counter and laid the purse in front of him.
“Surely you can tell the passengers that the trevloc has taken ill and won’t be able to take them today.” She held his gaze with her fierce, imposing stare, causing him to shift from foot to foot uncomfortably. Givara opened the purse and began to spill gold coins out onto the counter in front of him.
“The normal rate is ten gold coins per person, my Lady.” He licked his lips and ran a trembling hand over the pile of gold. “That’s thirty just for the three of you.”
“There are one hundred gold pieces there, boy.” Givara was not negotiating with him. Her voice was a command. “You will let us board this trevloc, and we mean to leave right away.”
The young man contemplated the offer for a moment before nodding and walking away to speak with the woman in the gray uniform who was standing beside the trevloc watching them. Sim edged up on Enaya’s side and whispered in her ear. “What if they refuse the bribe?”
“Then we take that trevloc by force.” She was deadly serious. She looked into his eyes to determine his resolve, then ran a hand down his arm to where he held his sword hilt with a vise like grip. “I hope you know how to use this.”
Two heavy shouldered men carrying thick brass cudgels came walking into the building from the field. They may have been coming for an unrelated reason, but they noticed Sim and Givara immediately and slowly approached the counter. They came and stood against the wall at the end of the counter, their eyes drifting back and forth between Sim and Givara and the attendant.
The young man seemed to be quietly arguing with the woman whom Sim guessed was the trevloc rider. She looked at them suspiciously as the young man attempted to convince her. At last he came back over with a sick expression on his face. It wasn’t going to be good news. He walked behind the counter and started to gather the coins back into Givara’s purse.
“I’m terribly sor
ry, my Lady, but the rider is unwilling to alter her schedule. There’s nothing I can do.” He held the full purse up for Givara to claim.
“So be it then,” Enaya said dangerously. She turned and marched right toward the rider who watched the approach with a confident smile. Enaya stood before her, and they locked eyes briefly. Then Enaya dropped down into a curtsy, keeping her eyes down at the rider’s boots.
“Our lives are in danger,” she said in a hushed tone, prostrating to the rider. With her hands she formed a triangle with her fingers. “I implore you to help us. We are at your mercy.”
The woman looked taken aback. “Stand up,” she said, angrily. Enaya stood straight, but kept her eyes averted. “How dare you invoke the calling.” The rider was talking low, through gritted teeth. It was clear she felt uncomfortable speaking in front of the counter man and the two goons.
“I’m desperate,” Enaya pleaded. “Even as we speak, a man is on his way to kill us. You must help us. Please.”
“I can’t help you,” the rider argued, sympathetically. “It’s not my call to make. If I leave off of schedule, I’ll be in trouble when I return here. I’m sorry, there’s nothing I can do.”
The two toughs had seen enough. They walked over to Enaya with their cudgels sitting up on their shoulders. “Is there a problem here?” asked the first man, a graying blonde with teeth missing. The second man, a younger looking version of the first, stayed back, keeping his eyes on Sim and Givara.
“There is a problem,” Enaya said, raising her voice as she rounded on him. She shoved a pointed finger under his nose. “We need to get on this trevloc.”
The man didn’t look impressed. He pushed her finger away from his face with an annoyed swat of his hand and nodded to the younger man. “I think it’s time for you to go,” he said, grabbing Enaya by the arm and starting her toward the door.
He didn’t make it far. Before he’d taken his third step, Givara ran at him, then dove and rolled forward, planting a boot to his midsection. He released Enaya as he fell back, gasping for air. Givara had placed her kick well, knocking the wind out of him. The younger man charged at Givara, but Sim had his sword out and caught him on the back of his head with the flat of his blade. He dropped to the floor in a heap, losing his cudgel which rolled harmlessly away. Sim didn’t give him a chance to recover. He’d gotten into a few scraps over the years at the Kelmor Inn when a patron had a few drinks too many and got out of hand. He knew how to fight. Not wanting to kill the man with his sword, Sim instead leveled his boot heel into the side of the man’s head leaving him unconscious. Givara wasted little time with the older man, spinning to his side and planting the butt of her sword hilt into the man’s temple.
With the two toughs taken care of, Sim looked around. The young counter attendant had disappeared, fleeing the room once he saw weapons drawn. The rider stood next to her trevloc, arms folded, eyeing them all angrily. She pointed emphatically at the two unconscious men.
“How can you possibly expect me to help you now?” she scolded Enaya. “This isn’t my trevloc, you know. I don’t own her. This is a job. If I take you now…”
“If you take us now,” Enaya said, cutting her off. “You won’t have to work anymore.” She motioned to Givara standing a few feet away dangling the coin purse. “There are one hundred gold coins in that purse. Consider it a severance.”
The rider eyed the bag with a look of resignation. Sim could tell that she didn’t want to take the coin, but she realized the situation she was in and knew it was the only way out. She watched Sim put his sword away then turned a pleading face to Enaya.
“My Lady, please,” she begged. “Don’t put me in this position. There are consequences I would face.”
Enaya softened her tone, taking the woman by the hand. “We all face dire consequences every day that Desirmor rules. You know that as well as anyone.” They both looked down at the hand Enaya was holding. Enaya traced a triangle on the back of the rider’s hand. “Have you had even one good night’s sleep since they made you register?” The rider shook her head sadly. Enaya pointed at Sim. “This young man here needs to get off of this island. He may be the one chance that you, or I, or anyone has of ever hoping for a world free of Desirmor. Please help us.”
The rider looked quizzically at Sim and then sighed reluctantly. “Hurry up, then,” she said, pointing them to a wooden ramp that led up to the compartment on the trevloc’s back.
Enaya didn’t need to be asked twice. She gestured for Sim and Givara to follow her up while the rider went around to the beast’s head. As Sim walked up the ramp, he watched her put her hand on the trevloc’s face and whisper some kind of chant. Her hands began to glow with a faint yellow light which flickered momentarily just before she took her hands off of the trevloc. The light seemed to slowly seep into its skin, and soon the trevloc opened its big brown eyes. Whatever the rider had done seemed to be enough to rouse the beast. It lifted its big head, bending its neck around so it could see the people on its back. Its wide mouth, with two rows of large rounded teeth, opened up and let out a loud yawn. Then the rider came up the ramp and moved to a seat at the front of the compartment that had long leather reins drooping over the wooden railing. Does she control it like a horse, Sim wondered, watching her grab the reins. There were five padded benches running through the middle of the compartment but Sim didn’t see any straps or rope. He couldn’t see how they would be able to stay in their seats once the trevloc took off. Sim followed the lead of his two companions and sat down, watching them closely to see how he should act. Enaya just folded her hands in her lap, and looked to the rider.
“Wait,” Givara commanded suddenly. They all looked at her in confusion. “We must give Master Farrus a chance to get here.”
“We have no time, Givara,” Enaya argued with her. “Prianhe may very well have killed him already for all we know. We can’t take the chance.”
“We wait, my Lady.” Givara was leaving no room for second opinions. When she used that tone of voice, she expected obedience.
“How long must we give him then?” Enaya said, biting her lip in frustration.
“Five minutes, my Lady,” Givara said, her eyes focused on the buildings entrance.
Sim watched the entrance as well with a sick feeling in his stomach. Three days ago he had lost everyone who had ever mattered to him. Then Farrus appeared at the inn, and for the first time since he’d left Dell, Sim felt like home wasn’t so far away. He needed Farrus to be alright. Each moment that passed, sitting on the padded wooden bench, was agonizing. The whole building was silent save for the rhythmic breathing of the trevloc and Enaya’s impatient foot, rapidly tapping away at the wooden floor boards of the compartment. It seemed like an hour passed as they sat quietly waiting.
“It’s been long enough,” Givara said with resignation. She turned to the rider. “We must go to Nal’Dahara.”
“Oh no. Hold on. You never said anything about Nal’Dahara.” The woman looked ready to throw them all off of the trevloc.
“Please,” Enaya implored her. “We have to go to Nal’Dahara.”
“My Lady, I can’t. They’re not even expecting me there. I can’t just fly in unannounced and expect to leave without some sort of inquiry. If I’m lucky they’ll dismiss me from my position. That’s if I’m lucky.”
The argument was cut off suddenly as a man came crashing through the entranceway. Sim’s heart leapt as he turned expecting to see his old friend, Farrus, but as he looked at the man standing on the threshold, a current of fear coursed throughout his body. It was the man from his dream. The man he had seen plunge a sword into his chest atop a rainy cliffside. His greasy black hair was pasted to his skin with sweat and his yellow eyes flared as he glared triumphantly at the party aboard the trevloc. He smiled wickedly as he strode across the room, his right hand pulling his sword free from his scabbard.
At first Sim was sure it wasn’t happening. It had to be a vision or a dream. This wasn’t the place he
was meant to die. He heard Enaya say the name Prianhe when the man had entered the room, but he still couldn’t believe it. Then he realized that if Prianhe was standing before them, then Farrus must be dead. A deep sadness overtook him at the thought that his connection to Dell and the life he knew was truly gone. But watching Prianhe stalking him like a wolf moving on its prey, Sim pushed down his sorrow and replaced it with anger. Like Desirmor and the Blood Lord, Sim was going to make this man pay.
He drew his sword, but Givara was quicker. She fearlessly leapt off of the platform, flipping twice in the air, somehow unsheathing her curved sword mid-flight, and landed with absolute balance on the stone floor next to the ramp.
Prianhe’s smile widened. As Givara carefully moved toward him, he circled to his left, eyes locked on his opponent.
Then Givara struck. She moved with a quickness that made Sim’s jaw drop and her opponent retreat. Over and over she struck, then twisted and spun to either side hitting Prianhe from every angle imaginable. Prianhe met every strike with a confident defense, surprised by Givara’s prowess, but not overwhelmed. At times Givara would dive to the side and roll, striking as she came back to her feet. Other times, she would flip over his head, striking as she passed over him and again when she landed. Her style was unusual and relentless. The fight looked to be going in her favor. Prianhe was kept on his heels by her unorthodox sword technique.
Suddenly Farrus appeared in the doorway, breathing heavily from his run to the resting station. When he saw the fight inside, he pulled free his sword and charged at Prianhe screaming a guttural battle cry.
Givara lost a step when she saw him. She hesitated just long enough for Prianhe to jab his sword at her right leg. His sword found its mark, and Givara grunted and stumbled back, falling to the floor beneath him. Farrus arrived, swinging at Prianhe’s head, but his strike was deflected. They began to circle one another, Farrus blazing with fury, and Prianhe grinning from ear to ear.
The Innkeeper's Son Page 17